


Not how you spell chauvinistic

by kathkin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: (no actual references to Prison in Space), Gen, I did not like Prison in Space, I listened to Prison in Space, this was the result
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Zoe wondered if a hundred lines might be a cruel and unusual punishment to impose on someone who wrote as slowly as Jamie.</i> The Doctor makes Jamie write lines and teaches Zoe how to play four dimensional chess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not how you spell chauvinistic

**Author's Note:**

> The Doctor has Jamie write lines in _[Heart of TARDIS](http://tardis.wikia.com/wiki/Heart_of_TARDIS_%28novel%29%22%22)_. (Also, ironically I discovered while writing this fic that I cannot consistently spell 'chauvinistic'.)

Zoe knocked on the open kitchen door. Jamie grunted, but didn’t look up from his writing. “Evening,” said Zoe. “I thought I’d see how you were getting on.”

Jamie grunted again, but this time he at least glanced up. He was staring at his notebook with an expression of intense concentration, as if he was trying to solve a complex equation.

Zoe rolled her eyes and plopped herself down in the chair beside him. She peered at his work, and raised her eyebrows at the meagre handful of scrawled lines. “Goodness, is that really as far as you’ve got?”

Jamie looked at her properly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I write slow.”

“I can see that,” said Zoe. She peered at his notebook, craning her neck, squinting to read his untidy writing. Jamie protested, but she didn’t pay any mind. “That isn’t how you spell chauvinistic.”

“Eh?”

“You’ve spelled chauvinistic wrong,” said Zoe, scanning the page. “You’ve spelled it wrong three different ways. That’s almost impressive.”

“I don’t see how it matters,” said Jamie. “You can tell what it says.”

“ _I_ don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” Zoe retorted.

“I am too!” Jamie protested. “Just cause I cannae spell all the long words –” He sat back and stared at the page. “Och, you made me lose my place.”

“It’s where you stopped writing.” Zoe indicated the end of the line. “And I don’t think it counts if it’s all spelled wrong.”

Jamie tapped his pen against the page absently. “Alright. How do you spell chauvinistic?”

“C-H-A-U-V-I –”

“Och, slow down!” Jamie was scrambling to keep up. “C – H –”

“A, U,” Zoe repeated, more slowly. “V –” Jamie _did_ write slowly. She wondered, as she spelled it aloud for him, if a hundred lines might be a cruel and unusual punishment to impose on someone who wrote as slowly as Jamie. “T, I, C. There.”

“Is that right?” Jamie swivelled the page for her to check. He’d written it on a line by itself, _chauvinistic_ in his wide, childish handwriting.

“Yes, that’s it.” Zoe took the notebook, twisting it out of his grip and sliding it across the table.

“Hey!” said Jamie. Zoe tore off the top sheet. “ _Hey_! What’re you doing?”

“Now that you know how to spell it, you can start over,” said Zoe, handing the notebook back with a smile.

Jamie stared at the blank page in horror. “Give that here,” he said, making a grab for his lines, which were already crumpling between Zoe’s fingers. “Zo-ee! Give it _back_!”

“Write it out again,” Zoe insisted.

“Och,” Jamie said dismissively, “the Doctor didnae say they had to be _spelt_ right.”

“I’d have thought that was self-evident,” Zoe said.

“It’s nae self anything!” said Jamie. He prodded the blank page atop the notebook. “Look, I’ve done this before, and the Doctor’s _never_ bothered with spelling.”

“Well –” Zoe stopped short, bemused. “What’s he made you write lines for before?”

“That doesnae matter,” said Jamie. “What matters is – och, give it _back_!” He reached vainly for the torn-off page. Zoe held it at arm’s length, then bobbed out of her chair, carrying it still further away.

“I shall go and ask the Doctor, shall I?” said Zoe. “Then we’ll see.” She turned and ambled out of the kitchen.

“What?” Jamie sounded quite mortified. “Don’t ask him!” he called as he scrambled out of his chair. “He’ll only say it doesnae matter –”

He caught up with her in the console room, by which point she’d already handed over his meagre lines to the Doctor, who was inspecting them carefully, his fingers pressed to his mouth in concentration. “Hmm,” he said. “I have to commend your creativity, Jamie. What an interesting variety of spellings.”

“Give them back.” Jamie held out his hand for the lines. “ _Doctor_. Give them back.”

“It doesn’t count if it’s all spelled wrong, does it?” said Zoe. “That shouldn’t count.” As it became apparent that his stolen lines were not forthcoming, Jamie withdrew his hand and folded his arms across his chest.

The Doctor pondered the matter. “I suppose one could say it’s the thought that counts,” he mused. Jamie gave Zoe a look as if to say, _there, see_. “But now that you’ve learned how to spell it, you might as well get some more practice in, Jamie.” He began to crumple Jamie’s lines up with a mild smile.

Jamie’s shoulders visibly sagged in dismay. “Och, no,” he said. “It’s taken me ages just to write those ten.”

“Nine,” the Doctor corrected.

“That’s almost ten,” Jamie muttered.

“And in that case, you’d best get on with it, hadn’t you?” said the Doctor. “Bring them to me when you’re done.”

For a moment it looked as if Jamie was going to keep arguing. But evidently he realised he was only putting off the inevitable, for with one last glower at Zoe he turned on his heel and left the console room, muttering under his breath.

“Now,” said the Doctor, tucked the balled-up paper into one of his pockets. “I believe we have a game to finish?”

He was teaching her four-dimensional chess, which was similar to normal chess, but more intellectually stimulating and far more time consuming. Now that she’d mastered play, they were four moves into a proper game, which was shaping up to be quite exciting.

She’d played one further move and the Doctor was contemplating his next move when Jamie, at long last, finished his lines. He stomped into the library, threw himself down upon a chair alongside their chess table, and smacked three sheets of scruffy notebook paper alongside the Doctor. “There. Is that spelled right, now?”

The Doctor picked up the paper and began to leaf through it, his brow crinkling. “Hmm,” he said. “Ah, no, actually. No, that’s not how you spell ‘behaviour’ and I’m afraid the O in patronising is not, in point of fact, optional. But I suppose it will do.” He began to scan the lines again, mouthing something to himself.

Jamie’s sigh of relief was audible. “There. A hundred lines. Done. Can I –”

“Ninety-eight,” said the Doctor crisply. Jamie looked at him, horrified. Zoe smothered a laugh.

“What?” 

“Ninety-eight.” The Doctor laid the paper down upon the table and slid it towards Jamie. “You’re two short.”

Jamie stared at him in mute horror. “You’re joking.” He snatched the paper up and rifled through it himself. “That’s a hundred. I could _swear_ that’s a hundred.”

“Ninety-eight,” the Doctor repeated firmly. “Two more.” He reached into one of his bottomless pockets and produced a ball-point pen, which he clicked open and proffered.

Still staring at him, Jamie took the pen and applied it firmly to the page. 

“Alright,” said the Doctor. “Now, ‘I will not’ –”

“Trust me,” said Jamie darkly. “I know it.” Zoe couldn’t suppress her laughter any longer. He shot her a glare, then got to writing, mouthing the words to himself.

It seemed to take him a painfully long time to write it out twice more. No wonder it had taken him so long to write the other ninety-eight. But at last, he threw down the pen and shoved the paper back to the Doctor for inspection. “Am I done _now_?”

“Almost.” The Doctor folded the lines away into his coat – a quite different pocket from the discarded sheet, Zoe noticed. “What do you say?”

Jamie blinked. “Eh?”

“To Zoe. What do you say to Zoe?”

“Oh!” Jamie heaved a sigh and turned to Zoe. “I’m sorry, Zoe,” he said wearily.

“Sorry for…?” she prompted.

“ _Och_ ,” Jamie muttered. “I’m sorry for my chauvinistic and patronising behaviour,” he parroted. “I willnae do it again.”

He didn’t sound terribly sorry, but maybe he was just tired. “Apology accepted.” Zoe turned back to the chess grid, resting her chin upon her hands.

“Can I go _now_?” Jamie nodded at the grid. “This game of yours makes my head hurt.”

“Hmm?” The Doctor had already gone back to contemplating his next move. “Oh, yes. Run along.” He waved Jamie away. Jamie twisted as if to get out of his chair, then lingered as the Doctor raised his hands.

He hovered for a moment, holding his hands before the grid like a conjurer preparing to do a trick. Then he made his move. _Click. Click. Clunk._ “Check!” he said proudly. He smacked the button on the chess clock and scribbled down some notes, beaming.

Zoe groaned and pressed her forehead against the table. She’d walked right into it. 

Jamie leaned towards her. “Is he winning?” he said, confused.

Zoe picked herself up and stared at the grid. “Not yet he isn’t,” she said, rotating the bottom row. She lifted her pencil and began to write out an equation. 

Jamie peered at her notebook, a concerned expression upon his face. “I’ll just leave you to it, shall I?” He rose slowly from his chair. The Doctor and Zoe, already wrapped up in their game, grunted vaguely in response. “Aye. I’ll just leave you to that.” He tip-toed out of the library and away.


End file.
